


An Agelong Query

by BD99



Series: Tumblr Prompts [18]
Category: Wicked Lawless Love (Visual Novel)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Drinking & Talking, Drunken Shenanigans, F/F, Ghosts, Good Demons, Human/Vampire Relationship, Magic-Users, Mild Sexual Content, Western, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29938215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BD99/pseuds/BD99
Summary: “I sincerely appreciate the sentiment, little delinquent." Cecelia crooned in return.  Roslyn shrugged, unable to focus on anything but the gentle curve of Cecelia’s lips.  The hint of fangs behind the midnight red curtain.  Mindlessly, Roslyn tipped her head forwards, playfully nuzzling the Vampire’s jaw before her ear once more settled over Cecelia’s shoulder, forehead nestled into the safety of Cecelia’s neck.  There, tucked away in the scoop of Cecelia’s body, swaying in slow circles to the sweetest notes of a steady piano, Roslyn yawned, her smile shifted into contentment. Cecelia sighed too, tilting her head so that she could rest her cheek to Roslyn’s temple.  Together, they swayed, enraptured by one another, lost on the tide of the piano’s melody.  Cecelia, drowning in the orchestra of Roslyn’s heartbeat.  Of her soul.  All of which fell secondary to the sweetest whisper, like the touch of wind across the desert on a still night.
Relationships: Cecelia Visconti/MC
Series: Tumblr Prompts [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940980
Kudos: 1





	An Agelong Query

**Author's Note:**

> I owe a massive shoutout to Zutia for playing my beta and helping me through all my insecurities on this piece. Go give this gal some love on Ao3. We need her writing again, not just editing!
> 
> This was written for a tumblr prompt. - "Roslyn being super drunk and dragging Cecelia to dance with her. At first Cecelia is worried about Roslyn but ends up having fun dancing with her and enjoys her flirty drunk personality. At the end of the night, Roslyn sinks into Cecelia's embrace as they slow dance "

The Saloon was alive. The throbbing heartbeat of the sleepy little town, Wisp Willow. As the sun sulked, and the moon reigned, the Saloon roused. Even the most straight laced of folk came in from the unforgiving cold, lured in by the smell of fine food, of cigar smoke and leather. Of a home away from the homes many had left for their new start out in the Devil’s Backbone. People sat in clusters around their tables, laughter and chatter floating on a tide of wistful piano notes or a swish of Ada’s skirts. Some danced to the jolly jigs, kicking their heels and trying not to entomb their spurs in the floorboards in their drunken staggering. The sound of boots across the floor only added a beat, an intimacy to the din. Din which flittered by those seated around a table in the corner, just to the left of the door. The table with the greatest vantage point.

An odd bunch they were, none looking like another. No rhyme or reason as to why they’d be seated together, let alone throwing coin with laughter and barbs of their own. Yet not one person in that Saloon, dead drunk or stone cold sober, would deny how intimate the table was. How comfortable they were with one another. They shared the type of security come from risking life and limb together, they did. The Wardens. Nobody knew just what they did or who they were, precisely, only that even the Sherrif made way for them. That made folks antsy round them. It was safer to avoid that type of crowd when possible. Less complications that way. Thus, nobody paid them heed, offering the perfect place to relax and unwind for the unusual crowd.

“Who knew all it takes is a few drinks to make the Moonlit Outlaw play like crap?” At the table, Nathan Cayde’s voice cut above the din, the lilt of his voice strutting through the sound of the upbeat piano. 

That earned a huff from Roslyn Arosi, the forementioned Moonlit Outlaw.

Nathan’s earnest glee radiated from him, almost as if he were a cool breeze in the harsh frontier desert. With his lively, deep blue eyes glimmering like a mirage, lips peeled into a good-natured smile. It never ceased to amaze her how he could smile like this, as if his actions weren’t a one-way ticket to disappointment on a bad hoss. Least he wasn’t some yellow belly, the way he gigged up to the table of cheats, seers and demons. Perhaps his ghastly status was enough to earn him some reprise, yet it wasn’t bout to save his dignity. A fact proven by the cackle which came from the impish woman across the table the moment Nathan’s money collided with the wood.

He shook his head, drawing Roslyn’s attention. His wavy locks, one many might be long to cut to lessen such a beautiful man, proved aptly distracting to The Moonlit Outlaw. Lord’s mercy, was it wrong to want to run her fingers through those fine hairs? To see if the beginnings of curls felt as smooth as they looked? It wasn’t like she was fixing for his bed, nor pressed for fine company in said regard, but watching those locks bounce with every tilt of his head, or the broody fix of his chapped lips, roused a curiosity in her drunken state. She watched the ends bounce round his jawline, contrasting the harsh line of his beard. A beard better suited to the Ace-High parts of town, a dab too neat for the rougher parts, but by the devil’s charm did it gruff up Nathan’s otherwise baby like face. For all his chiseled jawline, the grizzled gauntness to his cheeks and heavier brows, his petite little nose added this aspect of utter adorability to the man, enough that the moonlit outlaw found herself fixing to bop it… or maybe poke it? A little pinch to the adorable button? 

She settled for a sloppy poke to his cheek, which earned a chorus of amused laughter. Even Roslyn laughed, though, she wasn’t quite sure why. It felt good to laugh with friends, to let go, even with Fiona sitting across the table like a predatory cat ready to devour the mice. Roslyn swore she could almost see a tail swishing, though that might have also been the alcohol flooding her veins.

“Come on, Roslyn. Show us some spark.” If Nathan’s voice had been a strut, Fiona’s goading words were a skip. A teasing, coy swish of skirts and mysterious smile to match the Seer’s very nature. Keen, golden brown eyes twinkled; their brightness only intensified by the smudged, dark eyeshadow. Fiona made no effort to hide her borderline sadistic mirth as she sized up the table, lording her knowledge over them with taps of her armored fingers against the backs of her cards and a subtle glint of teeth in an overly satisfied smirk, added to a subtle downturn of a pointed chin to her collar; a demure little jest between those at the table. The almost childish image of braids peeping from beneath her hood added to long with the tufts of an unevenly cut fringe, didn’t detract from the spooky allure. Here she was, optimism and mischief, cheekiness and mysterious magnetism set upon an undercurrent of a mournful disconnect, all wrapped into a woman strutting a line between adorable and sexy with an element of spook that set many hearts fluttering. Of course, butterflies did nothing to soften the downright wicked grin as Fiona continued tapping, a subtle reminder to all that the only other human at the table held the future in her palms. Was savoring her victory, toying with everyone there like an adolescent cat having found a wayward old mouse.

“She’s saving it for her bed tonight.” Sascha purred, the wicked upturn of his lips leaving nothing to speculation when it came to the meaning of his words. As always, his voice was almost liquid sex, a dose of lust accompanying his crude observation. Roslyn could almost feel heated breath across her ear, the seduction in the words translated directly to her soul, drawing out every memory of what could follow. His little trick radiated through the room, had women shuffling awkwardly in their seats, men clearing their throats just a tad too loudly as they tugged at their neck ties. Even the pianist stuttered, a key pressed a tad too roughly, slipped off.

A mood killer if ever there was one. Roslyn flinched, hand tipping for the briefest moment. Enough for Sascha to get a glance of her cards, she wagered.

Sascha Orosco looked far too pleased with himself as he slouched back in his chair, fixing the table with one of his feline grins. An expression designed to be kissed away, hard and demanding. All lust and unquenched heat. A devil’s snare if ever there was one. Not that a jawline stronger than a king’s military didn’t help, nor those high cheekbones, sharp enough to cut yourself on. He was the type of man momma told you not to run off with, the type who promised to leave you ruined by the time he burned through you… but being burned was too much a thrill to ignore. 

“A chance to play to the gallery? I’d love to” The witch retorted, words slurring together a little. She had to pretend not to notice the ripple of concern travel throughout the group. The guilt briefly illuminating Sascha’s magenta eyes. Darn it all, she hadn’t meant to find herself so deep in cups, hells bells, she’d even partaken of less than her usual amount. She never should have listened to Sascha, have branched from her usual poisons. She may be a woman of many, many vices, but her vices were all kept rightly in check. If not by her own efforts, then by her partner’s. When working alongside the Desert Rose of the Devil’s Backbone, one learned quickly to keep their wits about them.

Her lips twitched. She was always aware of the regal vampire’s presence. The untamed beauty. A queen of the night, much like the Queen’s in a few hands. It was easy to imagine Cecelia’s face upon those cards, fangs and bloodied butterflies, sharpness nipping at the fingers touching her, or a blow to Nathan’s boots. His grunt was enough for Roslyn’s magic to spark, to bring about the drunken images of dancing numbers, of beating hearts and digging spades. Effortless. A breath. A laugh at the startled faces of her competitors, except Fiona. The mystic was too busy smiling like a cat who’d just lapped up the last of the cream.

“Ahhh.” The seer began, her voice amazingly bored. A dexterous flick of her wrist had her cards spraying across the table, a pair of aces hiding amongst them, to land directly in front of a grumbling Nathan.

“Well… I fold.” Fiona’s casual surrender was delivered with a perfectly innocent shrug. Roslyn’s eyes narrowed. Even sunken to the ocean floor, she could read that something was… off? It wasn’t her hood. Perhaps pantihose? No, somehow Fiona didn’t seem the sort to be reactive to that kind of thing. Or rather, not reactive in this way… With her dress being so short, wouldn’t everyone know if she was taking command of her nethers?

“Say what now?” Nathan gaped; his eyes fixed on her cards for a split second before shifting back to her face. 

“I thought you were using your gifts to win, not buy all my expensive drinks.” Roslyn’s barb was met with a chuckle from the table, along with another innocent gesture from Fiona… Roslyn wasn’t buying the act. Not for a single second. Not even with Fiona’s money.

“You’re an absolutely delightful drunk, Miss Arosi. A worthy cause to lose a days payment to. I fold.” Sascha purred, his charm laid on thick, complete with a playful wink as he laid his cards down. Roslyn couldn’t relax, couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. Her eyes shifted between smirks, between sly grins exchanged around the table, all the way to Nathan’s grouchy huff.

“You’re not the ones who have to manhandle her and her little demon. I fold.”

“Hold on now!” Roslyn began, hand sliding across the table as she tried to right herself, intent on giving the cowboy a piece of her mind. It failed of course, given the room begun to swim, her chair tilted, until she surrendered to gravity and allowed herself to fall, full bodied onto the table.

“I’m the one roostered one, not Enzo.”

“If I don’t copper my bets, this game will last hours… besides, I foresee you’re going to be busy.” Fiona continued to tease, lifting a hand to dramatically touch the space between her eyes. She acted up the gig, Cheshire smile fixated so firmly in place Roslyn doubted when a herd of mustangs could drag it down. Sascha straightened before she could retort, his eyes shifting to the door, brightening with rich amusement and a deep seeded satisfaction, his need for lust sated for the moment.

“I foresee five foot ten. A rather fetching jawline. A smile sharper than moonlight on a starless night-”

“Cecelia!” Roslyn realized out loud, jerking up in her chair. She didn’t even hear Sascha, nor the table. There was a serenity to the presence approaching her, like the moment one went underwater in a cool, refreshing lake… followed by the hyperawareness of every droplet of water running across one’s skin when they surfaced; the jitters assaulting her in full swing. Those pesky nerves marched down her arms, lifting the hairs in places many might say hairs had no place rising. The moment before lightning sizzled in her veins, even as the breath of calm approached her from behind.

Instinctively, Roslyn turned to that presence, letting her gaze fall upon the Desert Rose.

“I didn’t even get to the marble bust-”

“Have some respect for the woman. She’s your boss!” Nathan’s scolding served as a timely interruption for Sascha’s playful leering. The Demon’s brows ceased wiggling, flicking for a breath before he commented offhandedly.

“I forgot I was drinking with a prude apparition.”

“I’ll give you an apparition.” Nathan grumbled, reaching for his bottle. Bottle? That was a good idea! Her mouth was quite dry after all, her head empty. Where was Roslyn’s drink again? Blindly, she groped around the table for it, only to find the welcoming rasp of well-loved wood.

“Judging by the gleam in your eye, Sascha, Roslyn’s providing quite a soaked feast.” Fiona’s words drew Roslyn’s attention. Damn it, the Seer’s golden eyes had too knowing a glint to them, a cat who’d gotten the cream, complete with a little milk moustache. Sascha wasn’t much better. The Incubas was practically preening as he leaned back in his chair, lazy, Cheshire smirk forming across her unfairly attractive lips.

“Half the patrons are. The Desert rose makes quite an entrance.”

That she did. Even across the room, Cecelia cut an intimidating figure. A blade through the night, straight to Roslyn’s gut. Goddess, Mother of Night, was Cecelia able to make an entrance. Demons strutted, Fiona kind of skipped, Nathan had this floatiness to him. But Cecelia… Cecelia redefined reality. The world existed only to be a backdrop to the Supernatural perfection of every step, smoother than any criminal could hope to be, the perfect predatory stalk reimagined into casual yet purposeful strides… So many conflictions that _SHOULDN’T_ work, but Lord did they work for Cecelia Visconti. 

Roslyn was stuck watching, breath catching at each stride, at the flex of those impossibly strong legs clad in form fitting charcoal black trousers. The casual confidence in those strides, the power of those legs… Roslyn had ridden horses with less. The smallest part of sense in her brain warned her to look away, her sluggish body thought that meant down. Straight to the vine engravings across Cecelia’s boots, gold gleaming across chocolate straps, which in turn bound midnight leather… it was a miracle that Roslyn did not collapse to her knees, that she could fight the urge to press her lips to those vines in devotion. Why else did such a perfect being exist if not to be worshipped?

“They damned well better be respectful about their thirsts. Cecelia could rightfully have their heads.” Nathan’s continued griping bought Roslyn a moment of clarity. The entire table could hear the underlying, unspoken threat to Nathan’s statement. That if Cecelia did not claim the heads, that Roslyn might have a collection of balls to kick down the streets. An image which had said Witch snorting before taking another healthy swig of her booze.

“Doubtful she’ll notice when Roslyn’s half seas over. She’ll soak up all of Cece’s _attention_.” The way Fiona practically purred the last word left very little to the imagination.

“She does seem to have partaken of too much alcohol.” The unmistakable voice of Cecelia Visconti echoed in Roslyn’s ears, serenading her mind in an untouched vault of time for sober her to process later on. This was accompanied by a grounding touch to her far shoulder, the tips of Cecelia’s claws prickling through Roslyn’s cottons. The Witch surrendered to baser instincts, shuddering with delight as she leaned back into the Vampire, head resting against the Immortal’s lace covered shoulder, and downright shamelessly admired Cecelia’s visage.

Cecelia was a beauty unlike any Roslyn had seen. The Vampire was every inch as regal as the Princesses from the worn fairytales tucked away in Roslyn’s rucksack. She was also the mysterious seductive huntress from the penny dreadfuls hiding beneath Roslyn’s pillows. Her lips were fine, bathed in midnight red which stood starkly from skin the delicate shades of fallen snow. Her pale complexion blended the cut of her jaw into the graceful heights of her cheekbones. The faintest dappling of blush concealed that supernatural perfection, blending Cecelia with the land of the mortal living. Even across the room, the deep greens and greys of her garb seemed unable to dull the glorious mane of chestnut, the luxurious hair hanging down below her shoulders… all lost to the devil’s snare of winter greys. Gentle eyes made to appear angular by an overly generous portion of eyeliner and smokey red eyeshadow.

“Or perhaps of a more potent variety. Tricks of an Incubas, perhaps?” Cecelia’s comment was accompanied by an accusatory brow arched in Sascha’s direction. Despite the inconvenience, Cecelia somehow seemed amused, fit to saw the Incubus. A mental game where she was steadily tightening a noose around the Incubus’ throat as she smiled. An undisguised trap she practically dared Sascha to sacrifice himself to, for what she might do if he didn’t simply acknowledge the corn. It seemed Sascha was not willing to take the risk, given his simple response.

“I would be amiss not to slake a lady’s thirst.”

“Slake?” Nathan demanded, laughter dancing beneath his tones.

“More like you aimed to drown her. She’s as full as a tick!”

At the confessions, at her victory, Cecelia seemed to preen. A quiet, subtle shift to how she held her head. She’d had her blood, albeit metaphoric, and was sated for the moment. The quiet tinge of smugness remained as she gathered her chair, and proceeded to ignore how the wood screeched as she dragged it across the floorboards. Even as she gathered her own chair, she never jostled her shoulder, never disrupted Roslyn’s drunken obsession. If anything, the Vampire seemed to encourage it, given the playful flicker of a wink she offered Roslyn once she finally managed to claim her seat.

It was unfair how such a simple expression could have Roslyn’s cheeks flushing with more than the warmth of her booze. How Cecelia’s quiet intensity could shake the Witch’s very foundations, until she had to look down like a blushing maiden. Of course, that meant she was face to bust with Cecelia. Hells Bells, she just wanted a fair shake at seeming like she had a control on her libido. 

But how was it a fair shake when said bust was concealed only by see intricately decorated, rose vined lace which left the sharpness of her collarbones exposed like the worst kept, sexiest secret this side of the Devil’s Backbone? Roslyn’s cheeks flushed at the realization that it was not merely the lace panels of her grey button up, but Cecelia’s lacy undergarments that added to the teasing vision. It was only running into the hard edge of grey across the swell of Cecelia’s forementioned bust that broke Roslyn out of her thoughts, and mercifully tore her from the teasing of the black corset defining Cecelia’s boddice.

“Not to worry, miss Visconti, I’ve left a particular thirst for your enjoyment.” The Incubus commented, his pointed gaze fixed out on Roslyn and her current occupation. The entire table shuffled, gazes anywhere but where Roslyn’s was. That didn’t make sense to the drunken Witch. Cecelia was stunning, why ignore that? It wasn’t like Cecelia was hid- oh… Leering wasn’t becoming. But it was Cecelia! Innocently, Roslyn’s gaze rose, meeting Cecelia’s. Amusement twinkled there, the gleam of waves in oceans far deeper than anybody could comprehend. Whatever darkness swum in those depths were known to the depths alone, much like Cecelia’s thoughts. Much like her pains. It may have been the booze talking, or the heat of Cecelia’s gaze, but Roslyn was willing to drown in those depths if only to take a droplet of the pain from Cecelia’s lonesome.

“It seems this Witchling is drawn to things both deadly and beautiful.” Sascha’s words fell un unhearing ears.

“Cecelia, lovely, dance with me!” Roslyn was urging, sacrificing her place of comfort to spring to her feet. She lurched, held only by Cecelia’s gentle arm around her waist. The Witch fell, sprawling into Cecelia’s arms with nothing more than an excited giggle. The vampire’s chest heaved with suppressed laughter, even as those talons came to brush some of Roslyn’s hair away from a clammy forehead. There was such a tenderness to Cecelia’s innocent gesture, something that stole the breath from Roslyn’s chest even as Cecelia’s lower voice came.

“Oh Witchling, I doubt your feet would hold you to these tunes.”

“Don’t worry, Cece,” Fiona began, that mischievous grin coming back tenfold.  
  
“I foresee the music is about to change.”

For a brief moment, Roslyn and Cecelia stared at the seer, both processing her words. The Saloon had fallen quieter, the makeshift dancefloor abandoned as the melancholy notes of the piano rung. It was as if the patrons dared not speak over the beauty, the story each note wove through their ears.

“I suspect this is more foreplaned than foreseen.” The note of skepticism within Cecelia’s voice had the table smiling. Even the lord of disapproval himself seemed to find something endearing about the antics. A series of shared glances and grins launched a silent debate, who would take the fall and who would claim credit. A blink, a shuffle of the cards, a twitch of a brow. The quirk of lips, then a glance towards Kellen. Finally, it was the brave little Seer who spoke up.

“I see the jig is up. Would you deny us our entertainment, Cece?” Fiona wheedled, her eyes large and brimming with their innocence, a display of her deceptive talents. Nathan didn’t even try to put on a puppy face, instead tipping his head in an effort to hide behind his hair. Sasha’s attempt at a convincing face looked more suited to a brothel. Then, there was Kellen.  
  
Concern on his face was… it didn’t belong. The demon’s exotic face was practically carved to express disapproval. From his low set brow resting over the most worn, blazing eyes of literal hellfire, he gauntness to his cheeks which led into the sharp angle of his jaw. Hells Bells, even his lips were the damn poutiest Roslyn had ever laid eyes on. His face was young enough to be brotherly, yet the transition from dark black to frosty white along each tussle of hair gave the salt and pepper look of a father. Double doses of disapproval and disappointment, nuff to drag one’s stomach out their pucker and their heart into their gut. Heck, if his regality didn’t drown you, his dapper stylings were able to remind everyone that he was better. That he was far further refined than any mortal clutching at the nature of sophistication he had in the toes of his boot, nevermind his whole visage. 

Why was he concerned now, of all times, for her? They clashed, so violently. He was due process, whereas she was chaos. She was the one who’d swept into town off of theft from murderers, and in turn pocketed their finest Ranger as her partner in, well, law. Criminally amazing law. Right, so she and Visconti also chaffed each other at first, yet how they’d come together as a team was leaving the other Wardens in the dust. They were better, she’d admit that while sloshed. They got things done, they helped PEOPLE as people instead of objectives. Instead of seeing that, Kellan seemed more disturbed that his Ranger was straying from the rigidness he’d shackled her in. Shackled to save… Mother night, it was fucked up. What he’d sacrificed and endured as punishment for revering life. 

Cecelia. That was their common ground. Kellan might have been the man to have raised Cecelia, but he was not the one to draw her from her shell. He wasn’t what Roslyn was to the vampire. His presence was order, was the reminder of Cecelia’s indirect imprisonment. Roslyn was chaos. The freedom. Kellan was the ground, where Roslyn was the sky. Cecelia needed both, but for so long she’d been kept on the ground due to the hurricanes in her life. Roslyn refused to lose Cecelia to those hurricanes, just as she refused to accept that Cecelia should never use her wings. Yet, if she were Kellan, she doubted she could let go any easier than he. Kellan was Cecelia’s childhood, when she needed him. Roslyn was Cecelia’s true stride into adulthood, her testing of the shackles the Ward had groomed her to praise. Of all the nights, this was the one where Roslyn was the direction everyone needed Cecelia to step. The fact she lingered… this was way too heavy for her drunken mind to wrangle.

Cecelia’s loud sigh signaled her surrender.

“I suppose a dance in an innocent enough request.”

The table broke into cheers, all save Kellan taking up the encouraging chant.

“Dance. Dance, dance, dance.”

Kellan’s lips merely twitched into an approving line, a sip of his drink concealing the encouraging nod he sent Roslyn’s way. Somehow, her drunken mind latched onto the sense of victory, the acceptable and belonging of a family she’d never truly had. It was enough to make her smile, to lean closer to the cool body she’d been warming. Cecelia, for her credit, remained composed. Quite a feat, given she had a lap full of drunken Witch and a table chanting for her to make a public spectacle of herself right in front of the man who’d raised her. How she was so composed, Roslyn had no idea, only that this was not the night she’d envisioned. She needed to see that youth that immortality had preserved in Cecelia for so long. Needed to see those cheeks flush and that stoic veneer crack. 

“Come on, lovely, I know several dances that don’t need any music.” The Witch purred, squirming, wiggling her rump deeper into the cave of Cecelia’s body until she could safely turn. Still, Cecelia barely seemed phased, watched with those gorgeous eyes. What Roslyn wouldn’t do to see the disguise fall way. To see the blood moon of the Visconti vampire. If even for a blink. With two fingers, pointer and middle, Roslyn stroked from the hinge of the jaw, a teasing touch that whispered across chilled flesh and fell from Cecelia’s pointed chin. As if she might wipe away the illusion, to see those terrifying depths. Was it even a case of willingness to drown anymore? Or had it become desire?

“You seem bereft of what little propriety you usually possess, little Witchling.” Cecelia’s response was delivered quietly, the tone relaxed, almost indifferent, save for the smallest catches. What such a tone did not possess was what urged Roslyn to push harder. Dared her, even. Then, there was Cecelia’s hand, lifted to catch hers. The Vampire prevented Roslyn’s second pass at a touch, yet those talons caught the Vampire’s earlobe, tugging it lightly even as she guided Roslyn’s hand down. All Roslyn could do was stare, lose herself in the depths of Cecelia’s eyes once more. Hunting. This was a hunt, the thrill running down Roslyn’s spine. Cecelia, the perfect prey, thus far… but how could a mere mortal hunt immorality? Unless… said immortal was playing the game. 

That drew the most unholy of smirks to Roslyn’s face, even as she worked to throw one of her legs over Cecelia’s. Her legs hung, toes swinging, weight supported by nothing save the vampire. Flying and grounded. Earth and sky. Roslyn was the prey, with a hunter gracious enough to allow her dignity. All it would take is one movement, one moment where Cecelia lost herself or lost her patience, and Roslyn would bear the cost. She was so close to the fire, playing with an inferno. She had Cecelia between her thighs, more power than the most expensive stallion from any estate in the east. If Cecelia bucked… The Witch wanted that. She wanted Cecelia to buck, wanted the Vampire to lose her patience, to cling with more than the gentle hands against the curve of her waist. 

“You could bereft me of far more, darling.” She purred, letting the huskiness of alcohol sink her voice into the sinful satiny tones. In a motion as smooth as silk, for a drunk at least, Roslyn slunk her arms around Cecelia’s neck, fingers weaving into the vampire’s glorious locks even as she rocked herself closer, leaving no space between herself and Cecelia. She had to cling with her thighs, squeeze the Vampire so she could lift herself out of the chair, to look down at her huntress. The Witch could only swallow, licking her lips before leaning close enough that her next words were only for the Vampire’s delicate ears.  
  
“Then…” The Witch let her breath brush the shell of Cecelia’s ear, the tease of the corner of her mouth adding in as she let her words become heated. The filthiest things, every dark desire, her deepest secrets painted in the most scandalous of tones she could muster. Requests, nay, demands that would have demons blushing. That HAD demons blushing.

“HAH!” Fiona laughed in absolute awe; eyes blown wide. Roslyn’s met hers, the Witch giving that unholy smirk to the Seer for a split second before even Fiona found herself overwhelmed on Cecelia’s behalf.

“Oh hells… please stop.” Nathan groaned desperately, face flushed, eyes haunted. He had to avert his gaze when Roslyn’s teeth closed around Cecelia’s ear.

“Oh, please do continue. This is delightful… is she truly that flexible?” Sascha barked with glee, a glimmer of a demonic tongue brushing across his lower lip. The Incubus fed, eyes seeming to glow as he took in such a potent meal before him, only encouraged by the appearance of little horns peeking from beneath the table.

“According to the Lady’s Arms patrons? My mistress is the most flexible human they’ll ever meet!” Enzo declared almost proudly, earning a few tensed chuckles at the implications of such a statement. Roslyn was far too drunk to care. Lost in alcohol and power, in the game she so desperately needed to win, but so desperately wished to lose. Was there anything but victory from such a game? Something so pure could never be a loss, not for her, not for how the flames were licking up her spine. She could feel it, Cecelia’s composure cracking. It came in the pricks of talons. In the occasional flex between her thighs, something she answered with another dirty line expressing her appreciation. How close could she dance to this fire before it consumed her? It seemed she was never going to find out given the look of horror on Kellan’s face as he finally, FINALLY, spoke up. Given his discomfort, she couldn’t help but silently query if his voice was the only thing rising.

“Cecelia! For the seven layers of hells and every bell that might ring, shut Arosi up! Those of us with fine hearing don’t wish to hear such-”

“I’m sure I can find something to occu-”

Cecelia never let Roslyn finish. Cecelia’s hand came to her jaw, cradling it sweetly even as the pad of her thumb fell tenderly across the Witch’s lips. All it took was a single talon, pressed ever so tenderly to Roslyn’s lips for the Witch to still, to surrender. The moment Roslyn did, Cecelia gently slid her thumb away, caressing the line of Roslyn’s lip then the swell of her cheek, a gesture which stilled Roslyn’s heart. 

“Quiet now, Witchling. I’ll give you your desired dance if you cease haunting our ghost. Your brazen attempts to make me blush are for naught.” The Vampire urged, corners of her lips twitching, teasing the smile Roslyn was so devoted to drawing out. The table, the Saloon, the world. Everything in existence needed to see the radiance. Such a small expression, something so simple and true, such beauty it could chase the darkness of evil from the comforting shadows of night.

“Give me an hour.” The Witch said, giving a sloppy waggle of her brows. That did it. Cecelia cracked, lips quirking up into the fondest smirk Roslyn had ever laid eyes on. 

“You would be asleep within ten ticks, much less an hour.” Cecelia’s comment was delivered on a smile. Forever gentle hands gathered beneath the Witch’s thighs, holding them steady before Cecelia merely stood up, baring the weight as if it were that of a feather instead of an entire being. For a second, Roslyn simply indulged, smiling peacefully as she leaned her forehead into Cecelia’s collar. She was warmer, warmed by her contact with Roslyn, yet still refreshingly cool, enough that Roslyn could feel her body drooping into the relaxation, a realm of half consciousness and safety. Then Cecelia wasn’t holding her. Falling. She yelped, clawing at Cecelia.  
  
“Careful!” The Vampire was equally as quick. One hand caught beneath her thigh, encouraging the leg around her waist even as the vamp’s other arm wrapped around her torso. Again, she was weightless, held aloft by Cecelia’s strength. Again, she was entangled with the Vampire, wrapped around her, poised to climb her like a tree if only she had the courage and lack of… Oh no. She absolutely had the lack of propriety down. Drunken misbehaviour. The brattiness, in public, complete with the clinging. The wicked gleam in Cecelia’s eye as she led Roslyn to the makeshift dancefloor… The Witch’s cheeks flushed, leading her to curse her complexion. There was no way anybody was going to miss her blushing, nor her previous antics. Hells, she was never going to live this down, not if the smirk upon Cecelia’s face was any indication.

“I won’t dance if it proves a danger to you.” The warning was given light heartedly, a soft, intimate whisper as Cecelia drew Roslyn in close. Already, it was apparent the Witch barely had her feet, yet as always Cecelia was there to ground her. To be the very ground she stood upon. Without a blink, Cecelia had Roslyn standing on her feet, had her held impossibly close. 

“How else are we meant to celebrate the date you were born?”

The innocent question punched the air from Cecelia’s immortal lungs. Mother night, it tore her back hundreds of years. Back to when the day held meaning. To memories of a time before Kellan. Before the Ward. Where the ballrooms were alive, where she… The answer was so close, yet so far. So very, very far from Cecelia’s grasp. All she could do was sigh, was close her eyes and lean her cool forehead to Roslyn’s clammy one with a solitary observation.

“You know.”

“Of course I know. It’s important to know that about your family!” Roslyn’s earnest statement lured Cecelia’s eyes open, the impact of the unspoken acknowledgement a gift unlike any she’d received in her long life. She smiled, not one of her above mortality, tragic smiles, but a true smile, complete with a glimmer of fang. It was a smile which shook Roslyn to the core. Upon Cecelia’s feet, Roslyn finally stood at even height, their faces aligned. It was effortless, to lose herself in the beauty of Cecelia’s face so close to her own. To feel how their breath mingled in the tiniest of spaces between their lips. With a flush unattributed to alcohol, the Witch babbled on.

“It took a lot of magic though. And Kellan.” The conclusion of Roslyn’s explanation only proved her dedication. For Roslyn to willingly have sought out Kellan, to have chosen to confide in him, even for Cecelia… It went beyond Roslyn’s appreciation for him as someone in Cecelia’s life, or as her boss. 

“It is alarming is that you, of all of us, got him to the table.” She noted. An absolutely monumental understatement. Their conflict went beyond Kellan’s hazing a tenderfoot approach to Roslyn as a member of the team. Truth be told, Cecelia had half expected Roslyn to give Kellan a bad plum in leu of an apple when Kellan declared the trials. Their tensions even went further than Roslyn thinking Kellan a ten-cent man, and he finding the Witch to be a bag of nails. It was her. Roslyn’s issues had only grown worse once she knew precisely what Kellan’s role had been in Cecelia’s upbringing.  
Just as his hostility towards Roslyn had only increased once he recognised her connection to Cecelia. The temptation she could become, had become. What she was only proved to be the icing on one very hostile cake. The fact that they were beginning to bury the hatchet, instead of simply co-exist was just another priceless gift.

“I wanted you to have fun, and instead lost myself in my cup trying to flavour my blood before you even arrived. I was going to let you bite me so we could watch the sunrise. Sascha suggested some different drinks... I ruined your surprise! I’m going to be grouchier than a bear with a sore head come morning.” Roslyn deflated, squeezing her hand just that little tighter on Cecelia’s bicep. 

“Then it seems we will both be hiding from the sun.” Cecelia sighed, unable to conceal her smile as she leaned back. The tickle of Roslyn’s hair against her nose was the smallest of prices to pay to deliver the gentlest kiss to the Witch’s forehead. A gesture which had Roslyn smiling too, creeping from the melancholy that had been nipping at her heels.

“You’ll be a...” Cecelia trailed off, mischief brewing in her stormy eyes. As she continued in a sing song voice.

“What is it you called me? An adorable, grumpy little muffin?”

“You were all pouty! an’ to think, here I was tryin’ ta be nice to ya.” The Witch laughed, shaking her head a little at the gall Cecelia had to throw her own words back at her. That was a low blow. Totally uncalled for… adorable too. A little kitten mewling.

“I sincerely appreciate the sentiment, little delinquent." Cecelia crooned in return. Roslyn shrugged, unable to focus on anything but the gentle curve of Cecelia’s lips. The hint of fangs behind the midnight red curtain. Mindlessly, Roslyn tipped her head forwards, playfully nuzzling the Vampire’s jaw before her ear once more settled over Cecelia’s shoulder, forehead nestled into the safety of Cecelia’s neck. There, tucked away in the scoop of Cecelia’s body, swaying in slow circles to the sweetest notes of a steady piano, Roslyn yawned, her smile shifted into contentment. Cecelia sighed too, tilting her head so that she could rest her cheek to Roslyn’s temple. Together, they swayed, enraptured by one another, lost on the tide of the piano’s melody. Cecelia, drowning in the orchestra of Roslyn’s heartbeat. Of her soul. All of which fell secondary to the sweetest whisper, like the touch of wind across the desert on a still night.

"Happy Birthday, Lady Cecelia Visconti."

"Thank you.”

Cecelia’s response was honest. Sincere. Spoken from the heart. Even drunk, Roslyn could see it in her eyes. How gentle they were, soft, with a droopiness to them. For once, it was not Cecelia trying to appear harsher, nor watching for danger. There it was. The chasm in the veneer Roslyn had so desperately desired, mere millimetres from her face. Overwhelming, like how the Sun’s light drowned the moon out every day, but still the moon shone, as did every star. Only, they were within Cecelia’s eyes. Mother Night, they were in Cecelia’s eyes. Roslyn could only smile, even with her cheek rested to Cecelia’s lace covered shoulder, giggling at the tickle of Cecelia’s hair in conflict with the scratchiness of the lace.

“So,” Roslyn begun, her smile only growing as she saw Cecelia tilt her chin that little bit closer, as if trying to connect their gazes once more.

“are you ready to tell me how old you really are?”

Cecelia cracked. Her warm, rich laughter vibrated in her chest, disrupting Roslyn’s resting place. When faced with such a thing, what else could be done but to giggle along, to bathe in a moment where the weight of the world was not upon their shoulders? Where they could be young, drunk and ditzy without it leading to the cost of lives. Where the Ward had no power to punish Cecelia, or leverage her life against Kellan. Where, they could just be. Roslyn laughed too, turning her head so that she could playfully try to sneak a kiss through the lace over Cecelia’s collar. Whether it was the pressure, the heat of her mouth or the wet of her kiss, Cecelia seemed to feel something. Her chest swelled, and for one glistening moment, they were completely still. A snapshot in time.

“Oh my darling Witch, you still have not learned it is rude to query a woman’s age.”


End file.
